


A Mindscape in Metal

by RockyMountainRattlesnake



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Companion Piece, Creepy, Episode: s07e13 Nightmare in Silver, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Fluff and Horror, Gen, Horror, How Do I Tag, Memories, Mindfuck in Silver might be a better title for it, Nightmare Fuel, Self vs self, and nightmare fuel, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockyMountainRattlesnake/pseuds/RockyMountainRattlesnake
Summary: Eleven puts up his mental blocks to keep the Cyber-Planner at bay and keep it away from knowledge that could threaten the universe. But 49% of his brain is in the Cyber-Planner's hands, and the minds of his past selves are behind enemy lines without even realizing it. The Doctor's past incarnations are on the run from themselves...A companion piece to Nightmare in Silver, focusing on what might be happening inside the Doctor's brain.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	1. I

I.

“Now, Susan,” he said to her with a keen glare, “I think you’ve rather put me in my place.”

The memory of a chess game with his granddaughter in a pub surrounded him. A warm place, a comforting place. He often retreated to memories like this, when he wasn’t dreaming or wandering or simply watching what the current mind was doing. Peace and happiness, his reward for a life well-lived.

Susan hummed and castled her king; she’d already prepared an escape square. Clever girl.

His hearts swelled with pride, and the Doctor reached down to move his bishop into place, grabbing the top of the black piece-

He stopped.

Something was crawling across the board. It was small, the length of his thumb, and it looked like an overgrown silverfish. It chirped and cheeped, and he looked at it curiously. It scuttled up his bishop and down his arm.

“Hullo,” he said, brows furrowed, “What are you, then?”

“Grandfather?” Susan said, “It’s your move- what is that thing?”

The little insect crawled under the sleeve of his coat, and he frantically tried to get it off, yelling and shouting as it bit him-

Everything went black.


	2. II

He was on a planet in the far reaches of the Andromeda galaxy. It was 1967 (the date he hadn’t changed), and Jamie was with him.

Well, he wasn’t _actually_ there. That wasn’t accurate. He was in a memory of this place, this planet, this snatch in his life. But it amounted to the same thing, didn’t it?

The Doctor smiled at his human friend, gesturing at the darkened night sky. All around them, hundreds of insects with multicoloured abdomens buzzed through the calm summer sky, like technicolour fireflies. A hum suffused the air around them, a melodious song; these alien insects were singing, singing to find their mates.

“It’s…it’s so beautiful…” Jamie whispered, “My God…”

The Doctor beamed and pulled his recorder out of his pocket, and began to play a little tune. Something he was making up on the spot, something buzzy and chirpy; the melody wound its way through all the floating Firelight Bugs and resonated with them.

And to Jamie’s amazement, the disparate cloud began to dance along.

The Doctor’s hearts swelled with warmth at his human companion’s joy. At showing him this miraculous place. A bit of peace.

The grass behind him crunched, and he turned around with a scowl; the bugs resumed their swirling, chaotic dancing without their conductor leading them.

“Excuse me!” he said with a scowl, expecting one of his other incarnations, “I didn’t ask for company-“

The Doctor froze. The Old Man stepped around his TARDIS, walking towards him slowly. In the dark of this distant planet, he couldn’t see his face very clearly, but there was a light, blinking away on his temple-

The Old Man flung something at him, and the Doctor yelped, thrashing around and trying to get whatever it was off- it was on his chest, and then his neck, and then something was BITING him, and-

Everything went black.


	3. III

He was at a pub with the Brig.

They were doing shots and playing a game of cribbage in the corner. Which wasn’t going well, because the Brigadier had found a way to turn it into a drinking game somehow. Somehow being the operative word; the Doctor had quite forgotten the rules of “Drinks Cribbage”.

And not to put too fine a point on it, but he was losing. Handily. He was ten miles behind, not even over the Skunk line, and the Brig was rounding the last corner.

But it was fine. The human had bought him rum and ginger after rum and ginger- damn his big mouth, letting slip the one way to make alcohol affect him- and it was good. He was tipsy for sure, and having a good time.

He felt warm and giggly and he could almost ignore the fact that he was still trapped on Earth. Trapped, although at this moment, trapped with a dear old friend.

He’d be alright.

He was very, very drunk.

He was having fun.

The pub door banged open, and he frowned. One of his other selves, in to bother him, no doubt.

“I didn’t ask for company tonight!” he yelled at the door, and turned back to his game. Ah, good, the deck was already cut and it was his crib. Time to make up some lost ground.

The Doctor was sat in a large wingbacked armchair with its back to the door, so he couldn’t see who was walking up behind him. Whoever they were, they hadn’t listened to him; they kept marching closer, in lockstep. Which was a little alarming, but through the haze of alcohol and cards the Doctor couldn’t be bothered to care. 

He slurped down the last of his drink and set the glass on the table with a clunk.

The footsteps stopped somewhere behind him.

“Ten.” The Brig said, dropping his ten onto the table.

“Fifteen, for two,” the Doctor replied smugly, flinging down his five.

Just as his card hit the table, two hands- from two different people- landed on his shoulders, fingers digging into him PAINFULLY tight.

The Doctor whipped his head up, about to tell them off-

Wait, wait, _the Old Man and the Little One-_?

Their faces- their faces were-

Things skittered down their arms, alongside his neck, silvery things, and they burned as they bit him, a sharp acrid pain, and he barely had time to process what was happening through the haze of alcohol and-

He screamed.

Everything went black.


	4. IV

The Doctor took off his hat and set it on the glass table in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, humming to himself as he smelled the fresh mountain air.

Sarah Jane was beside him, gasping at the multicoloured six-winged hawks dancing in the blue sky overhead; they swooped and dove at the flying fish that were shoaling by the mountainside retreat.

A waitress in a trim uniform came up and placed a tray with their food and drinks on the glass, laying it all out evenly, and the Doctor sat up happily.

“Teatime at the end of the universe, eh?” Sarah Jane teased, dropping sugar and cream in her cup as she poured from the pot. The Doctor poured his in black, humming his agreement as he took a sip.

And oh, by all the stars in the universe, it was _almost perfect._

The notes of bergamot and tea leaves were balanced just right. His sophisticated palate catalogued every last little compound, compared them all, categorized, and calculated, and he determined that with just a dash of honey- like that, yes- the cup of tea would be-

He took another sip.

“This is,” he said with a smile, “The _perfect_ cup of tea. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better one, and I’m not sure I ever will.”

“You will!” Sarah Jane said with a laugh, “There’s always more to see, isn’t there? There’ll be more perfect cups of tea in your life. There’ll be more perfect cups of tea in MY life.” She beamed, “But this IS pretty good.”

He was about to launch into an explanation of the fauna here, and how most of it flew in the skies like a great ocean, only to be interrupted by the terrace door opening. The waiter bustled towards them, and hold on, tailcoat yes, but hadn’t she been a she a minute ago, and why were there two more-

The Doctor scowled.

“Much as I’d love to catch up, Skinny With The Bowtie DID ask us all to sod off while he’s doing some thinking, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’m trying to enjoy some- Wait.”

The Doctor stood up and snapped his fingers to summon a door, which dutifully appeared in front of him; he dove out of it, into a giant black void filled with thousands of other glowing bubbles, and through the door of the bubble next to it, slamming it behind him, leaving him alone in his TARDIS. Or the memory of his TARDIS, in any case.

That had been strange. Hopefully this wasn’t a consequence of Bowtie being so bloody old. Was he going senile?

The door opened behind him, and he spun around.

They’d followed him in. They’d followed him. They were _standing there._

_They should have vanished with the memory-!_

_And their faces, oh, their_ faces, _metal parts and flashing lights and-_

He tried to run. Tried. His predecessor had a mean right hook, which he’d rather forgotten about, and then he was in a hold on the cold floor of his TARDIS, cheek pressing into the tiling, arm bent behind him in a painful lock he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he struggled.

And then horrible skittery insect-THINGS crawled under his coats and scarves and bit and burned at his skin, the skin of his scalp-

Everything went black.


	5. V

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he was playing cricket with his friends.

Nyssa still didn’t really understand the rules, sitting in a folding chair the TARDIS had found for her, just enjoying the spectacle.

The Doctor watched the ball curve towards him and gave it an almighty crack with his bat; it sailed off into the far reaches of time and space. A gift of his Time Lord physiology, of course.

Everyone else was having a good day. He hadn’t been arrested. Nobody was trying to invade, the Master was nowhere to be seen, and he was playing his current-favourite game.

The grass behind the TARDIS crunched, and the Doctor whipped his head around with a scowl. Nobody walked in from that direction in this memory, so that meant it had to be one of his other selves, here to pester him while he was just trying to have a nice time.

“Look, you heard Tweedy Bowtie,” he called, “and while I’d love to chat a while, I’m a bit-“ he stopped mid-word to fend off another cricket ball, batting it off into the hinterlands.

The Doctor turned back towards the TARDIS, trying to think of the nicest way to tell his past selves to piss off- and froze.

Right, so, scan over all their faces, mmmm-hmm, that was decidedly NOT how a Time Lord’s face was supposed to look, and sod this, he was OUT of HERE, NOPE.

The Doctor kicked off his pads and snapped his fingers, launching himself out of that memory and into another one- any other one. The cricket bat vanished from his fingertips, and he tumbled onto a field of greenish yellow grass, eyes wide and frantic. Blue sky. Multicoloured flowers. His TARDIS.

A girl, a human girl, giggled somewhere nearby. 

“Go away!” A surly Northern voice yelled at him, “m’busy!”

“RUN!” he yelled, “RUN, RUN AWAY! THEY’RE AFTER US!” and he launched himself out of the memory and into his TARDIS, and they were still- oh, no, oh no no no no- 

They walked towards him in lockstep up the ramp, and Long Scarf flung something at him- it landed on the back of his jacket just as the Doctor flung himself bodily into another memory, desperate, frantic, and-

He was facedown on the floor of a prison cell when the skittering, gibbering little robots started biting at his head.

Everything went black.


	6. VI

They were in an alien submarine off the coast of New Georgetown on Grand Cayman (the planet, not the island) and the Doctor was jabbering away, explaining everything Peri was seeing with a big smile on his face.

The sea life beyond the huge plasticized acrylic portholes was fantastical, and Peri was spellbound. Bioluminescent dolphins swam past the windows, and fans of bright red tube worms waved along the rock faces. The alien animals all around them were amazing, and this planet was so peaceful that nothing of interest would ever happen here.

The Doctor leaned against the window, looking back to nod at the pilot, and admired the view himself. He glanced over to Peri on occasion, revelling in her delight; he’d done that. He’d put that look of wonder on his companion’s face.

Yep. Today was a good day.

“So, you’ll be interested to know that the Chondrichthyes- like that one there, look- are originally from this planet, and they were brought to Earth by- Oh, what is it NOW?!” the Doctor spun around with a scowl. Behind him, one of the doors to the observation sphere had opened, and he wasn’t in the mood for interlopers.

He sighed at the silhouette of a man in a cricket coat, illuminated by the light in the hallway beyond.

“Ah, excellent, you’ve worked out where the door is. Now that you have that important piece of information, why don’t you use it to _leave me alone?”_ he said, scowling down the short corridor. He couldn’t see Celery Corsage’s face, which was a little unnerving, and the man kept walking towards him-

Hang on. He wasn’t alone.

There were others, all the others before him, and-

Blue lights blipped from the darkness around their heads, and the Doctor shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. What was that? What had happened to his past incarnations…?

“Back off,” he said with a scowl, “I’m warning you, back off, or else-“

They stepped out into the observation sphere, and the Doctor froze, scanning all their faces, mind racing.

So, electrical cabling on the side of the head. Cyberman-type technology? But it couldn’t convert Time Lords, and also he was dead and hiding in his own mind, so-?

Right, yes, that train of thought was pointless. One through Five, alien technology affixed to the side of the head. Right. So, him being the Sixth, logic would dictate-

“Yes, well, goodbye then!” he yelped, launching himself out of the memory with a gasp and taking off running in the blackness between them. Bubbles with other memories swirled around him, bright lights illuminating a twisting dark path, and he needed to find one of his future selves, QUICKLY-

A glance over his shoulder made the Doctor gasp. Old Crickety Cricket was running like a bat out of hell in hot pursuit, and oh STARS WHY WAS HE SO FAST

He tumbled into a memory with waves of conscious thought radiating from it, nearly tripping over himself as he stumbled into the restaurant, eyes wide.

A man in a velvet coat with long flowing tresses was seated across an elegant dining table with some woman, and he looked at the Doctor with a scowl.

“Is this important? I’m a bit busy.”

“You need to run. Right now- There’s _something_ in here with us, it’s picking us off one by-“

Which was as far as he got before Cricket Coat slammed into him from behind, knocking him facedown into the elegant marble. Something jabbed at his face, at his ears, there were THINGS CRAWLING ACROSS HIS BACK-

Everything went black.


	7. VII

They’d just taken down an organized crime syndicate on a distant planet, and the Doctor was beaming at Ace with pride. His scheme had worked to perfection…although it had needed a little “encouraging” with some of his brilliant human companion’s explosives. But, the results were what mattered, and the taste of a good, clean victory, where nobody got hurt…it was nice.

They’d been invited to a gala dinner by the city’s mayor as thanks, and considering that the TARDIS was still buried under a pile of rubble that would take at least a day to clear off, the Doctor had happily accepted.

Jazz music was popular here, a revival of the old Earth style; despite their fangs and silver veins, this lot was as human as you got in this quadrant, and Ace was enjoying herself. The wine was free, the music was lovely, and the Doctor had half a mind to play along on his spoons.

Ace was chatting up some lady who was telling stories that had his companion laughing uproariously, and everything was alright.

The Doctor turned away to grab himself another glass of the very, very, very lovely wine, taking a sip and cataloguing the tastes, when Ace shouted from somewhere behind him.

He spun around, eyes zeroing in on the Old Man and the Little One. Their facial expressions were blank, and through all the people he couldn’t get a good look at them, but-

Ace came running over to him, grabbing her bat from where she’d left it by the punch bowl.

“There’s somethin’ wrong with them,” she said, “they’ve got, stuff, on their faces, like screwed in-“

He scanned the room, and caught sight of Long Scarf- blinking lights and cold steel sinking into the side of his skull, and right, so, they were all stalking towards him, and there was a flash of multicoloured fabric somewhere to his left, so-

“I think this situation calls for a tactical retreat-“ he said, turning to fling himself out of the memory bubble. He had his hand halfway up and fingers ready to snap, mind fixated on tearing his consciousness out of the current bubble, when-

Something skittered towards him, across the floor, running up his legs, and he yelped and tried to brush them off-

Horrible little metal insects, under his shirt, crawling towards his head and neck, and he brushed one off only for two more to take their place, no, no no onononononNO-

He took off running only to slam into his Third incarnation, who just glared down at him with cold, cold eyes-

He was in a headlock before he could get a word out edgeways, and the only thing he could do was scream as robotic fangs sunk into his head.

Everything went black.


	8. VIII

The restaurant was elegant and richly appointed, a violinist playing “classical” tunes of Earth (and by classical, he did mean Katy Perry covers, but that was the year 50,000 for you), and Grace was smiling at him, looking radiant in her fancy clothes the TARDIS had provided.

“This is lovely,” she said with a smile, “We should do this kind of thing more often.”

The Doctor nodded, eyeing the unlit candle in the middle of the table. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and twiddled it to the right setting, lighting it with a smile.

Grace giggled at him, and his hearts swelled. Simple pleasures weren’t just for simple minds, he’d come to realize. Simple pleasures made life worth _living._

The waiter had taken their orders some time before, and he was just enjoying the music and conversation, the sense of peace and fulfilment, when a ruffian in an obnoxiously colourful coat came slamming _through the wall_ of his memory, and the Doctor scowled.

It looked like the wall itself was flexing like a membrane when he burst through, snapping back into shape a second later; hence summoning a door, which is what they were SUPPOSED to use to enter and leave. Jumping from bubble to bubble so recklessly could damage them, and he scowled as he repaired the edges of the memory and made eye contact with his predecessor. Careless! _Stupid!_

“Is this important? I’m a bit busy.”

“You need to run. Right now- There’s _something_ in here with us, it’s picking us off, one by-“ his former self spluttered, voice harried and eyes wide-

And that was when a SECOND ruffian, this one in the Cricket coat, ALSO came flying through the side of the memory bubble and slammed into the back of the Sixth.

The Doctor was about to launch into a tirade about how they’d all agreed to leave each other alone while Bowtie was off doing whatever the hell he was doing, and now-

He stormed a few steps closer, the music stopped and all the dinner guests silent at the commotion. He needed to repair the memory bubble, but then he needed to-

His previous self was pressed facedown into the floor, mouth open in a wordless scream as hideous metal insects crawled out of the cricket coat and onto his face. The Doctor stumbled back, eyes wide, as the insects blossomed into wires and liquid metal, sinking themselves into the other man’s face- he screamed as they drilled in, eyes open and unfocused, like he couldn’t see-

Which is when his Fifth self got off the back of Fashion Disaster, and the two of them locked eyes.

The blinking light by his temple had more of a spark than his eyes did.

The Doctor spun on his heels and ran, RAN for the door into the space between the bubbles, desperate to get the hell away, get the HELL away-

It was picking them off, one by one by one by-

“ONE!” he screamed in terror, as the door to the memory opened, revealing the Old Man staring back at him with an utterly blank expression and the same bit of metal screwed into his face.

The Old Man lunged at him, and the Doctor dodged, shoes skidding on the marble- he barely had the presence of mind to shout “GOODBYE, GRACE!” as he flung himself out the side of his memory.

Into the black void between all the bubbles, where he could run. But…where could he go? Where could he go where THEY wouldn’t find him? He was trapped- trapped inside his own head- where could he-

He turned left, skidded to a stop, nope, nope, the Little One was there, and the Old Man was behind him, and oh boy this 4-way intersection was a bit of a bother-

He spun around, the bubbles drifting to hem him in, and all four paths were blocked off by previous selves stalking towards him like robots, cold blank expressions and glinting steel and flashing blue lights, and-

Right, the Little One, then- if he managed to hit a precise top speed, perhaps he could jump over him and come out the other side, then jump into a nearby bubble-

He sprinted at his Second self, clenching his teeth, and sprang into the air. And promptly tackled him into the strange black void with bubbles floating far below, because he hadn’t gotten enough runup, and-

His Second self grabbed a fistful of his hair.

The Doctor thrashed as the insects scurried across his face, their feet so cold against his skin, their bites like having thumbtacks hammered into his cheeks-

Everything went black.


	9. IX

The sun was starting to set, the air was warm, and Rose Tyler was snuggled under his arm.

They were in the past, in what would become future Canada. An alpine meadow, with long grass swirling around them. The birds chirped and sang, the wind blew through the pine trees, and flowers of all colours and shapes and sizes grew around them.

Rose had giggled her delight and started picking the ones that looked like asparagus with red tops- Indian Paintbrush, the settlers would call it when they finally came.

Which wouldn’t be for centuries.

She sat down next to him with her armfuls of flowers, pretty red lilies and small purple ones with yellow middles. Brown-eyed Susans and- the Doctor didn’t really care to play herbologist at that point.

He was lying back in a small sea of grass, at peace for the first time in fuck knew how long.

Rose was fiddling with the flowers, and he sat up, quirking an eyebrow.

“Makin’ something?”

In response, she gave him that tongue-touched grin, and showed him the flower crown.

“Now that’s not going on my-“ she reached up, and yep, there it was. On his head.

The Oncoming Storm, in a flower crown.

Rose’s laughter rang through the valley, and the Doctor decided that he could bear it. She smiled and leaned into his side, and his hearts gave a little flutter.

His hand found hers, and she sighed contentedly. He grabbed one of her fallen flowers and tucked it behind her ear, and Rose smiled at him.

There was a noise like someone ramming a pencil through the side of a sheet of rubber, and the Doctor sighed and glanced back over the grassy hill. One of his former selves had come to bother him in this precious memory. He closed his eyes and healed the damage to the side of it, gritting his teeth.

“Go away!” he yelled, “M’busy.”

The response he got was…not what he expected.

“RUN!” the other him yelled, “RUN, RUN AWAY! THEY’RE AFTER US!”

And then there was that sound again, the sensation like he’d just sprung out of the far wall of the memory, and the Doctor scowled-

And then it happened AGAIN, like there wasn’t just one of them in there. But both of them had left, and-

He got to his feet, healing the damage, and mulled over what was happening.

His previous self had told him to run, and something was after him.

Probably a good idea to listen, then.

He snapped his fingers, the door to the memory appearing in front of him. He opened it up- and spared a glance back.

“Bye, Rose,” he said to her memory, and flung himself into the void.

The door slammed behind him, and he landed after a short drop on the invisible floor. Bubbles all around, their contents glowing and swirling, and he took off like a shot. Up ahead in the distance, the bubbles thinned out, and that meant he was running closer to the Bowtie Twink currently running this brain.

It also meant he’d have more notice if anything tried to hem him in.

The Doctor ran, leather jacket flapping as he went; but as he got farther away from the collection of personal memories, he started to taste something strange in the air. Something cold and metallic, something touched with ozone and copper. It smelled-

Electrical.

He frowned, looking around at the bubbles- were they causing that smell?

A voice permeated through the void- their native tongue, the current prick calling them all to him for help.

“Yeah, sure, in a minute,” he muttered, trying to plot his best course of action.

A bubble floated towards him, behind him, blocking the way, and he could just TASTE the Time War radiating off of it, the pain and sorrow inside it all, and- yeah, no. He didn’t want to go in there.

Bootfalls behind him pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned away from the memory. 

Through the maze of bubbles, he saw his past selves marching towards him. And despite their different heights and shapes, despite the fact they were coming at him from different directions, they were all marching in _lockstep._ All of them- including the Fifth, who’d warned him to run not a minute ago, so- why-

The blinking lights and wires and other nightmarish shit screwed into everybody’s heads was pretty good, as explanations went.

“Fuck,” the Doctor muttered to himself. Right, so, probably charge for his…Fourth and Sixth…no…shit. Eighth and Second? And then try and get physical? Trying to get physical with the Third was asking to get his teeth kicked in, so that was right off the table-

As the Doctor scanned for options, bubbles drifted down, stopping up his escape routes-

Maybe just keep running? But then the bubble that had been following him drifted to cover his back, and he shivered.

The memory behind him, the one of the Time War, tasted of steel and terror. But not the right kind- it smelled off, somehow, and he didn’t want to know why it didn’t smell right. He wasn’t going in there. So-

He ran for one of the bubbles penning him in at the sides, prepared to fling himself through the side, but-

Time War. Yep. Nope. Fuck. Other side?

Also Time War on that side, yep, yep, he was NOT fucking going in there-

And the footfalls in unison crawled closer and closer, and he still didn’t have a plan, and getting cyberized _inside his own bloody head_ wasn’t high on the to-do list, thanks ever so-

Quick headcount- Eight Doctors, so that meant he was next.

And then they were all just, there, just two steps away, and-

His eyes went wide when he saw the swarm of insects fucking dripping from everyone’s coatsleeves, the little silverfish-looking things- like cybermats but _tiny,_ and-

Something was going on outside, wasn’t it?

He dodged the first fistful of insects as memories of the Time War drifted down all around him, blocking him off in a cage of his nightmares, and the Doctor lunged for the hole in their ranks, between Seventh and Eighth, all panic and fury-

Fists swinging, insects chittering, cold steel on his neck! BRUSH IT OFF BRUSH IT OFF, THEY’RE LUNGING, FUCK-

One of the men surrounding him tripped him up, someone else threw a fistful of the insects into the back of his head, and the Doctor hit the ground facefirst just as the little fuckers were biting into his skull-

He screamed.

Everything went black.


	10. X

He was in a gilded ballroom with intricate tiles and full of beautiful people. Another day saved and Rose Tyler in an elegant ballgown that came down to the floor, slow-dancing with her to the music from a live band.

She’d talked him into the tuxedo of doom, and he was rather pleased about that fact, though he’d never admit it. He twirled her in time with the music, happiness curling around him like a warm blanket.

He pulled Rose to his front and let his eyes close. It hurt, but she was here. It was alright. 

Here, everything was alright.

Rose laughed, and the music picked up, and soon they were dancing wildly, ignoring the looks from the others in the room. Just them two, the only people who mattered.

He pulled her close, dipped her down, relishing in her laughter; the joy of simply being with her, moving his body, having fun. This memory was so precious to him.

Which is why, when no less than ALL of his previous selves decided to kick the door down and come storming _through the bloody walls_ instead of _using the FUCKING DOOR,_ the Doctor’s mood soured considerably.

The music stopped, and he closed his eyes, sealing off all the damage and strengthening the walls of this memory again. All of them? Really? All at once?!

“What d’you think you’re doing?!” he demanded, wheeling around to look his Seventh self in the eyes, “I- um- Oh, that is not good.”

Sit-rep: Seventh self, blank robotic face, robotic bits and bobs screwed into the side of his head.

Alright. Nine holes in the bubble, nine other Doctors in here with him. Quick check, yep, and there was Long Scarf, alright, and he did indeed have metal bits stuck into his head and was looking at the Doctor with a thousand-yard stare, so that, yep, it was _all of them that were like that,_ then. Probably.

So: Nine other Doctors in here with him, presumably all out for his blood.

Tuxedo of Doom: _STILL THE KISS OF FUCKING DEATH._

“Sorry,” he said to Rose, booking it across the dance floor towards the door of the memory. There was a skittering sound from behind him, and he spared a glance back-

The Doctor yelped at the sight of a CARPET of horrible little silver bugs, dozens and dozens of them, all chasing him across the opulent ballroom. He shoved through the crowd of people frantically, wishing he’d decided to hang out in the memory of that one abandoned hallway that went on for a million miles with ample escape options, and nearly shrieked when Cricket Coat lunged at him.

He snapped his fingers, first to get out of the fucking Tux of Doom and back into his suit because he was just _covered_ in the bad tuxedo juju _,_ and the second snap to summon the door out of here and into the void-

The door was three steps ahead in the wall, and he tore it open, tumbling out into the void and taking off at a run.

He screamed, then, screamed for Bowtie; something was wrong, he yelled in their native language. Screaming for the current Doctor’s attention was something that they, the consciousnesses of Doctors past, seldom did. It was distracting, and dangerous, and might get all of them killed-

He dove into the first bubble that wasn’t his and didn’t taste like the Time War, landing facedown in a huge, dimly lit circular room with three doors and a column in the center.

“Oh, that was the _wrong_ choice-“ he spluttered, snapping his fingers to make the door appear and running for it-

The walls of the memory rippled- whose mind was this? Why did this memory feel so weird and _sterile?_

His other selves came bursting through, along with a SWARM of the insects, and the Doctor flung the door open-

Only to be greeted by the icy stare of his Ninth self, standing on the other side of the doorway.

Leather Jacket balled up his fist and slammed it into the Doctor’s face, sending him toppling over backwards into the swarm of skittering creatures crawling across the floor.

They climbed through his hair and bit at his face, pinpricks like red-hot nails-

The Doctor screamed, thrashing, trying to get them all off-

Everything went black.


	11. XI

The Cyber-Planner was taunting him, purring in his mind that he’d just captured the Doctor’s “Secret Weapon.”

Yeah, alright, _sure._

He called out to them, reaching with his mind for the sparks of their consciousnesses. They usually tucked themselves away into memories, or drifted to the fringes if they were bored or curious; and right now, he needed them. Because this chess game was not going well, and if he lost...

They’d have bigger issues than being pulled out of their favourite memories.

He called for them again, and felt a tickle- they were calling back. About fucking time. Except it wasn’t all of them, it was just his previous incarnation, Pinstripes.

And he was yelling something about bugs and insects.

And he sounded _terrified._

The Cyber-planner chuckled.

“I told you I got your little secret weapon. Your mental blocks are very good, I’ll give you that, but _they_ weren’t behind them…”

He was standing there on his side of the Doctor’s mind, grinning like the smug little shit he was.

“What?!” the Doctor spluttered, calling again for his past selves behind his barricades. And finally, FINALLY he got a response- all of them in unison, which was a _bit_ weird, but he could live with it.

“Hmm? Oh, seems you’ve got company coming. How rude of me! I’ll just get out of your way for the moment…” the Cyber-Planner said with a smug grin, standing aside.

He could hear them approaching- but from the wrong side. They were walking up _from the Cyber-planner’s side-_

The Doctor’s hearts clenched in fear.

_He hadn’t had time to get his past selves behind his mental barricade._

And then they appeared from the darkness, a row of them, and he shuddered- his body, his real physical body- shuddered at the wrongness of the sight before him.

They were moving in lockstep, which was the nightmarish part, their movements synchronized to an extent that should have been completely impossible. Stances all identical, perfectly straight. No sardonic head-tilt from Pinstripes, Long Scarf wasn’t slouching like he should have been, the Old Man wasn’t overcompensating his posture-

And then, of course, the row of utterly emotionless faces, just staring at him. Not a flicker of fucking anything in their eyes; the only lights on upstairs were the flashing LED’s stuck to all their temples. All on the left side, too, which just created an even more disturbing sense of uniformity.

The Cyber-planner strode around from behind Pinstripes, taking up his place in line next to his former self, with a smug little smile on his face.

“I think I look pretty good here on the end, hmm? Can’t wait to take my place with this lot. Certainly explains a few things, though, I’ll give you that. Ten COMPLETE rejects, goodness me. No wonder your neurons are a mess.”

With an exasperated sigh, he scowled at them and added, “Though I can’t use them to access memories, more’s the pity. And they’re not even particularly useful for winning this chess match, either. I suppose I’ll keep them around after I’ve won, decorations for the mantelpiece, perhaps? Anyhow, where ARE my manners? I should let you all catch up, I’m sure you’ll have LOTS to talk about…oh, and it’s your move.” The cyber-planner chuckled, stepping away from the row of emotionless pawns he’d made of the Doctor’s former selves.

He didn’t want to hear them speak.

They did anyway.

Every single one of them smiled all in unison. Didn’t reach their eyes. Still husks.

“Please cease all resistance. You are being upgraded.” They all said in unison, ten different voices all flat monotones and ten different faces all staring at him blankly.

The cyber-planner was trying to freak him out, and it was working.

He tore himself away from the row of puppets that were haunting his mind, and down at the chess board.

He made his move.

“My turn, I think,” the Cyber-Planner hissed, wrenching away control of his sight.

And for a moment-

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? hate it? Let me know your thoughts and leave a comment! I did something a little experimental, breaking it all up. This idea's been picking at my brain for ages, so it was nice to get it out and onto the page.


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